The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (120 page)

Laura was allowed in for a few minutes after that. In her jeans and sweatshirt, she looked as if she’d been out riding, too. Anna noticed a piece of straw stuck to her flyaway brown hair as they embraced.

“Are you okay? Never mind, that was dumb. How
could
you be?” Laura’s brown eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Thanks for sending Rhonda.” Anna struggled to hold her own tears in check. It was as though she’d been lost in the woods, wandering aimlessly for hours, and Laura’s dear face had materialized like a lighted window out of the darkness.

“You’re in good hands. She’s the best.”

“She seems to know what she’s doing.”

Laura mustered a smile. “You’ll be out in no time.”

“I’ll be lucky to get out on bail.”

“But you’re innocent!”

“That’s not how they see it.”

“Oh, Anna.” A tear slipped down Laura’s cheek. “I can’t believe it.
You,
of all people.”

Anna felt an urge to console her friend, but she knew they’d both end up sobbing. She swallowed hard. “Have you told Finch?”

Laura nodded. “She’s in shock, like the rest of us. She said to tell you not to worry about Boots. She’ll make sure he gets fed.”

“The key’s—”

“—under the mat. I know.” Laura brushed away her tears. “Is there anything else we can do, anything at all?”

“Call Liz. Tell her everything’s set for the funeral; all she has to do is confirm with the florist. His number’s on the pad by my kitchen phone. She’ll need to get in touch with Glenn, too. He’s coordinating things at his end.”

The irony didn’t strike her until Laura gave a tearful laugh, saying, “If you wrote it in a book, no one would believe it.” Who but Anna would be orchestrating the funeral of the very person she was supposed to have murdered?

She smiled. “I don’t suppose they would.”

Their time was up. She hugged Laura at the door.

“Is there anyone else I should call?” Laura held on to her, reluctant to let go.

Anna thought once more of Marc. She wanted desperately to see him, but knew how devastated she’d be if he didn’t come. She couldn’t take that risk. Not now, when she felt so vulnerable. She shook her head, answering, “No one I can think of.”

Anna slept fitfully. When she woke, it was to the merciless high noon of the fluorescents. How long had she slept? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours for she still felt drugged with exhaustion, her eyes grainy and her head stuffed full of cotton. She sat up, listening for the familiar cacophony of the bull pen, but the only sounds now were the ticking of a heater vent and faint buzzing from the fixture overhead. It was almost a relief when the door at the end of the corridor clanged open and Benny once more shuffled into view, balancing her dinner tray in one hand and holding his bad hip braced with the other.

He pushed the tray through the slot in her cell door—meatloaf and mashed potatoes glistening with gravy. The smell brought a wave of nausea. “I came before but you were out like a light. I warmed it up in the microwave,” he said. She was touched by his consideration; it made her feel a little less alone. “Eat up now, you hear. Ain’t nothing bad that was ever made good by an empty belly.” His voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as if they’d been hatching a plan of escape.

Anna forced a smile. “Thanks, Benny.”

“If there’s anything I can do …” His drooping eyes regarded her dolefully.

“Just keep the faith.” She patted the large freckled hand curled about the bars.

Benny started back down the corridor, his shadow lurching along the wall. He was almost to the end when he paused and turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. There was a fellow here to see you a bit ago.”

She felt a surge of hope. Marc? But it could have been anyone—Hector or Father Reardon. “Did you get his name?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

“Can’t say that I did.”

“What did he look like?”

“Young fellow. Tall, dark hair.” Her heart sank, then she remembered that to an old guy like Benny anyone under fifty would seem young. As if picking up on her thoughts, he asked slyly, “Wouldn’t be your boyfriend, would it?”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

Benny dropped his gaze. “Sorry, Anna, but the chief left orders—no more visitors tonight. He says this ain’t no hotel.”

Anna felt the walls closing in on her. “Benny, please.” She was gripping the bars so hard she’d lost sensation in her fingertips. “It’s important. Maybe life or death.” She didn’t know if that was true, but right now it seemed that way. “You’ve got to help me.”

“Well now, Anna, you know I can’t do that.” He stumped back toward her to whisper sotto voce, “I could get suspended. And with me coming up on retirement.” He leaned heavily onto his good leg, his hip thrust out in a pose that might have been comical if not for the anguished look on his face. “But I’ll tell you what …” He licked his lips, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. “If your fella shows up while the chiefs still on his break, I’ll give you a few minutes.” He shook his head, as if puzzling over his own foolhardiness. “Guess it’s the least I can do … after the way you looked after the missus.”

Anna recalled that his wife, Myrna, had recently passed away. But what had she done other than drop by the hospital a few times to comfort a dying woman? Anyone would’ve done the same. “I won’t forget it, Benny,” she said hoarsely, her eyes filling with tears.

When he was gone she sank down on the cot, drawing her knees up to her chest. The hysteria she’d been staving off crept up on her and she began to laugh soundlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’d longed for Marc, but never in a million years could she have imagined the circumstances that would bring him.

It seemed an eternity before Benny reappeared with a taller man walking a few feet behind him. Her heart leaped.

“Marc,” she breathed.

He drew to a halt in front of her cell. His eyes burned in the cold white light, and she had the sense of being embraced though he hadn’t so much as touched her. Then the door slid back and he stepped inside.

“Five minutes,” Benny muttered with a glance at his watch before discreetly moving up the corridor.

Marc drew her into his arms, roughly almost. “I jumped in the car as soon as I heard. I couldn’t fucking believe it.”

It was all she could do to keep from dissolving. “Me neither.”

He drew back, his eyes searching her face. “Are you all right?”

She managed a small smile. “I’ve had better days.”

“I wanted to call when I heard about Monica, but …” His eyes cut away.

She felt a spark of anger.
Why didn’t you then?
But she knew it would only have made things more difficult, for both of them. “You’re here now; that’s all that counts.”

“Do you have a lawyer?” he asked.

She nodded. “As of today.”

“Is he any good? Because I could make a few calls.”

“It’s a she, and I’ll know more tomorrow.” She didn’t feel like discussing Rhonda. “Just hold me, Marc. That’s all I need from you right now.” She burrowed into his arms, conscious of Benny standing just a few feet away.

“Poor Anna.” He stroked her hair, and she caught his scent—the same scent that had lingered on her clothing after that night at the lake. Nestled in his arms, she felt safe for the first time all day.

“It all seems so unreal.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt. “Even Monica’s being dead.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“You don’t think I killed her, do you?” She drew back, eyeing him with something close to panic. If Marc had suspicions …

“Of course not.” It was obvious there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. A wave of relief washed through her. “Do you have any idea who might have?”

She shook her head. “Not a clue.”

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”

“My lawyer’s on it.”

“How can I help?”

“I guess,” she said slowly, “that’s up to you.”

He regarded her in silence. They both knew what it would mean for him to get in any deeper: It could end up doing more harm than good. But all he said was, “I’m staying at the inn. Let me know as soon as you hear anything. I’ll be there as long as you need me.”

It all came rushing back: the moon caught in a window-pane, the sound of water lapping against a dock, Marc’s breath warm against her cheek. The memory was almost more than she could bear. She fixed her gaze on a button on his shirt that was loose—something a wife would have noticed. “I should know more by tomorrow.”

“You’ll call me?”

She nodded. “There
is
something you could do in the meantime,” she told him.

“Name it.” He looked relieved to be of some use.

“Liz. Would you talk to her? I’m sure she’s worried.”

“I’ll drop by on my way to the inn.”

Anna scribbled her sister’s number on the back of one of his business cards. “Tell her …” She shrugged. “Nothing. Just that I’m okay.”

An awkward silence fell. Then Marc asked, “Does she know about us?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No.” She’d seen no reason to tell Liz.

She saw the regret in his eyes. “If it counts for anything, I’m sorry about the way it was left.”

“You didn’t lie to me, at least.” A trace of bitterness crept into her voice nonetheless.

“I thought about you. A lot.”

She looked at him long and hard. “I missed you every minute of every day.” Before today, she’d have died rather than admit it, but such concerns seemed silly now, like worrying about your clothes getting wet while you were drowning.

He smiled crookedly. “Be careful what you wish for, right?” He brushed his knuckles lightly along her cheek, leaving a faint trail of fire.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

Benny cleared his throat to let them know their time was up. Marc hugged her tightly. She could feel his heart beating and for a fleeting second mistook it for her own. She tilted her head back and brought her mouth up to meet Marc’s. His kiss was balm to her frayed nerves.

Reluctantly they drew apart.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“If I make it through the night.”

“Just remember—you’re not alone.”

She felt some of the tension go out of her.
I love you.
The words were on the tip of her tongue. But all she could do was mouth them to his retreating back.

Marc drove carefully, negotiating the steep, twisting road as if around any bend might lie the answer to the questions gnawing at him. He’d gotten only the sketchiest of details from CNN, but he knew they wouldn’t have arrested Anna without sufficient evidence. Had she been framed? And if so, by whom? Only one thing was certain: He wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. In fact, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since …

He gave his head a little shake to clear it. He’d spent the past four months trying to rationalize it out of existence, but the truth was he felt something for her. It had caught him off guard, especially after knowing her for so short a time. He hadn’t been hit this hard since that day he’d first laid eyes on Faith, chatting with a friend on the Stanford quad, a breeze flirting with the hem of her skirt—a
skirt,
in the days when you couldn’t tell the girls and boys apart from behind. Anna was nothing at all like Faith … but the feeling, like a bone in his throat, that was the same.

He couldn’t turn his back on her any more than he could on Faith. And maybe he needed something from Anna as well, if only to know that he was making a difference in some way. He couldn’t save his wife, but maybe he could save Anna.

He squinted, straining to make out street signs in the glare of his headlights. Liz had told him to look for the one to the hot springs, and finally he spotted it, just ahead on his right.

Moments later he was turning onto a narrow graveled lane. His headlights panned over dense trees and shrubs before an A-frame cabin sided in cedar shingles came into view. Farther up the hill he could see the spa illuminated by floodlights, rustic contemporary with Asian overtones—Frank Lloyd Wright meets I. M. Pei.

A Jeep Cherokee was parked in the driveway next to Liz’s red Miata. She hadn’t mentioned company. Was he intruding? No, she would have said so. Though surprised to hear from him, she’d seemed eager for any information he could give her.

He knocked, then stood cooling his heels for a good minute or so before the door opened a crack and she peered out at him over the chain. “Marc, hi. I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly.” She fumbled with the chain and stepped aside to let him in, looking nervous for some reason. “Sorry about the mess,” she apologized. “I haven’t had a chance to clean up.”

He entered a small living room with an open-beamed ceiling and fireplace. On the sofa was a basket of laundry waiting to be folded, but otherwise the room looked neat enough. Liz was a mess, though. In her leggings and rumpled T-shirt, her hair mussed as though she’d just climbed out of bed, she looked nothing like the stylish woman he remembered from family week.

He heard a cough in the next room, and asked, “Is this a bad time?”

Liz darted a glance over her shoulder. “No, not really. My friend, um, he was just leaving. Can I get you something to drink? There’s wine in the fridge.” Before he could remind her that he didn’t drink, she said, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. How about a soda?”

“A glass of water would be fine.”

She made no move toward the kitchen; she just stood there looking up at him, her brow creased with consternation. “Tell me about Anna. I’ve been worried sick.”

“Under the circumstances, she’s about as well as can be expected.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard.” He saw the hurt in her eyes that she hadn’t been the first person Anna called.

“I couldn’t, either,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Liz shook her head. “It’s like some kind of nightmare. First Monica … and now this.”

He lowered himself onto the sofa, the smell of clean laundry drifting toward him. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. Monica and I … well, we weren’t exactly close.” She shrugged. “I guess blood isn’t always thicker than water.”